


High rise (eye to eye with fireworks)

by Dekka



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fainting, M/M, postural hypotension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-06 16:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17348792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: “I was on WebMD,” Auston answers, painfully honest.Mitch’s nose scrunches up, all pixelated over FaceTime. “Who’s dying?”“You, apparently,” Auston chirps.Mitch’s laugh is too loud for two am, but Auston finds himself smiling despite it, clicking his phone's volume down a notch or two. His bed, that just hours ago felt impossible to get comfortable in, suddenly feels a lot more forgiving.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely 100% made up and all medical knowledge was found through google so it may not be very accurate! Thanks for reading :) any warnings I need to add just lemme know

Even though they’re in the big leagues now, teammates still mess around during practice. It’s one of those things that’s oddly comforting after expecting the NHL to be some giant leap into unfamiliar territory. 

Between drills it’s easy to get side tracked, lost in banter and too exhausted to do much more than talk shit about the latest rumor making it’s way through the locker room. 

It’s December of their Rookie year, and Auston and Mitch are worn out from a one-on-one, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bench as they catch their breath. 

Coach is really letting them go, lost himself in a Kadri vs Leo duel. He doesn’t notice the way the clock slips past their five minute break and edges closer to the ten minute mark. 

No one’s complaining. 

Teacher’s pet Connor Brown has to be stopped, though, when he tries to point out that their water break is well past over. Freddie takes care of it, circling the rookie and pulling him away from Babcock with the hook of his stick. 

Auston would bet his yearly salary that Brownie was the type of kid in class that would remind the teacher about the homework assignment they otherwise would’ve forgotten. 

From across the ice they can all see Mo giving Freddie a thumbs up. 

_Cool TA_ , Auston categorizes. He never went to college, but still, he’s allowed to try his hand at figuring out the team dynamics. 

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, when he finally notices that Mitch has gone more than thirty seconds without saying a word. 

He has to bump his shoulder into Mitchy’s when he doesn’t respond, lost staring into space. 

“Hu?” he asks, shaking himself awake. Auston snorts. “Did I beat you too hard on that last drill?” 

Mitch shakes his head, laughing, but Auston still doesn’t get a verbal response out of him. It’s kind of weird. He’s never seen Mitch so slow before. 

Shrill, Babcock’s whistle blows and Auston can feel himself and half the team search out Connor Brown. He’s easy to spot, standing sheepish beside Coach. Freddie’s hands are up in innocence as he skates away, back to his goal post. 

“Bozak line, Kadri line,” Coach calls, and Mitch is heaving himself up with a sigh that’s so out of character that Auston actually stares him down, searching for answers, as he jumps over the boards. It’s the only reason Auston sees his steps falter then knees give, sending him to the ice. 

He’s got a chirp halfway out of his mouth when he realizes Mitch didn’t just trip. He isn’t getting up- isn’t moving. And Auston, he’s seen the Peverley videos. He’s got a reason to be concerned, here. 

Even as he jumps over the boards he feels like he’s moving too slow.

He doesn’t know what to do, but he throws his gloves off anyway, grabbing ahold of the front of Mitch’s jersey as if that’ll do anything. 

“Mitch,” he says, pleading. It doesn’t feel real, like he’s maybe caught in the daydream of an intrusive thought. 

He expects when he blinks he’ll be sitting back on the bench, Mitch leaning into his side. 

Instead, Mitch is the one who blinks, just regaining consciousness. He’s squinting up at Auston like he doesn’t quite recognize him.

And that’s all Auston gets to see of him. The trainers take over from there, forcing Mitch to stay down even though Auston can hear him insisting that he’s fine. 

It feels weird to drift back from the scene, Morgan pulling on his jersey to keep him moving. 

From far away it dawns on him that Mitch just passed out, that everything that’s just happened was real and out in open ice. His teammates had to have seen his fear.

“Auston, he’s okay,” Mo promises, but he just keeps looking back at Mitch and seeing him looking confused and pale, surrounded by a sea of their staff. 

Again, Morgan tugs on his jersey, this time, to pull him off the ice. He makes the trek to the locker room on his own, though, pushing Mo’s hands away so that he can try to take stock of his body. 

Everything feels hazy again, unreal like a nightmare now that Mitch isn’t in front of him. 

It doesn’t help that the locker room is nearly silent, whispered words only being passed every couple minutes as they all hover by their stalls, unsure what they’re supposed to do. 

Babcock’s head peaks into the locker room, but only for a second. “Change out of your gear but stick around,” he calls, and then he’s back out of the doors in a rush. 

“He was up and talking and everything,” Auston overhears Naz say. It makes him feel a little better, but still, Mitch is probably his best friend on the team. He’s allowed to be worried. 

“You okay?”

It takes Auston a second to realize the voice is talking to him. He doesn’t remember sitting down but he is, in his stall as everyone around him changes. 

“Yeah,” he forces out, and when it comes out weak and croaking he clears his throat, forces his voice to be stronger and says, “yeah, I’m all good.” 

Lying somehow makes it feel more true. He takes off his gear, showers, and waits with everyone else for instruction on what to do next. 

It doesn’t take long. By the time they’ve broken off into groups, trying to figure out what’s going on, the locker room doors open. 

Mitch is standing, walking, talking, even smiling. 

Auston’s eyes slip closed, his breathing evening out. The relief is so overbearing that he can’t help but dig his nails into his palm, trying to get a hold of himself. 

Babcock’s voice grounds him, then. “So, here’s the deal boys, Mitchy’s going to have the floor for a minute and we’re going to go home after, take the night off, then tomorrow I expect everyone ready for morning skate.” 

It seems fair enough. Only Connor looks vaguely disappointed at hearing that their last hour of practice wont have to be made up with gym time or an extra skate. 

When Babcock motions Mitch forward it feels overly formal, odd in a locker room that’s normally filled with them all yelling over each other. 

“So, uh- sorry,” he starts, and it proceeds to go from uncomfortable to confusing. “I have this thing- well it’s not really a thing- it’s more like a problem. It’s a Autonomic failure, really-” 

Auston’s head flies through a million gut-wrenching diagnoses, and the big words spewing from Mitch’s mouth are no help to his racing heart. 

But then Mitch is shrugging, all casual, giving them all an embarrassed, weak smile. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s called Postural Hypotension. Basically, sometimes I just pass out.” 

A pin could drop and Auston is sure he would hear it. The faces around him are just as dumbstruck. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Willy blurts out, and thank God, because Auston wasn’t going to say anything. 

Mitch looks helplessly to Paul, and their head athletic trainer takes over, used to explaining medical jargon to hockey players. 

“Hypotension is a condition. It’s the opposite of high blood pressure. The “Postural” in ‘Postural Hypotension’ refers to Mitch’s position. If he triggers a certain position, his blood pressure doesnt react accordingly and blood doesnt get pumped up fast enough to his brain. Essentially, this causes a number of problems like dizziness, nausea, fainting, heart palpitations, and momentary loss of vision.”

“Like what positions trigger it?” Mo asks. 

Mitch looks to Paul again but the trainer backs off, letting Mitch answer. “Like going from sitting to standing too fast. You guys probably get, like, head rushes, yeah? It’s kind of like that.” 

“And, somedays, if he puts his hands above his head,” Paul adds, and then it gets a little more uncomfortable. "We realize now, after the fact, that this should have been brought to everyone's attention sooner. I understand seeing someone unconscious can be distressing, and accordingly, any team psychiatrist or myself will be available to talk or answer any questions."

It takes a second after that for the floodgates to open, and questions for Mitch start flying, but Auston is lost in the way Mitch seems perfectly fine now, if not a little anxious from the third degree from his teammates. This whole thing just seems so out there, like it’s just a weird dream Auston’s bound to wake up from any minute. 

But Auston doesnt jolt awake as the minutes tick by, forcing him to accept that sure, apparently Mitch losing his vision momentarily or fainting is a thing that just happens to happen to him sometimes. No big. 

The Coaching staff knew, obviously, but Auston can’t help thinking it would’ve been really cool if they could’ve found out some other way. Like, an email notice, or a text. 

Mitch’s voice, droning on, pulls Auston back in. “Like when I get out of bed in the morning, my vision goes out and I just have to sit on the floor for a bit,” Mitch explains, shrugging, easy as ever. 

From the corner of his eye, Auston can see Mo rolling his eyes. “Kid, that doesn’t sound too good,” he says. Auston honestly doesn’t know why the vet isn’t Captain yet. A minute ago he basically offered to hand deliver Mitch to his next Doctor’s appointment just to make sure he actually goes. Apparently, the team staff is pretty strict with the rule that if something happens with Mitch’s condition during practice or a game, then he has to see his primary care doctor right after, since she’s more familiar with Mitch’s brand of ‘autonomic failure,’ _whatever the hell that means_.

“So like, what’s happening biologically that makes you faint?” Zach asks. He likes to quietly hang his college degree over their heads sometimes. Auston would call him out on it if he wasn’t wondering the exact same thing. 

Mitch shrugs. “I just have really low blood pressure and my heart doesn’t react the right way to my body’s movements but, really, it only messes with me if I stand up too fast or, like, put my arms above my head. It’s not a big deal.” 

Next to him, Auston can see Willy’s head tilt. “How do you even play hockey?” he asks, not unkindly, but just harshly, Auston thinks. 

Gards pushes him. “Dude,” he says to Willy, scolding. But it makes Mitch laugh, his hands done anxiously twisting together as he relaxes under the more light-hearted spot light of his teammates’ attention. 

“The pace of the game gets my heart rate and blood pressure up and that helps keep my blood from pooling in my lower body,” he answers. It sounds like a plagiarism of words, like Mitch has been told the answer to that question too many times. 

“Is it a secret?” Brownie asks and Mitch is quick to shake his head. 

“It just never came up. I didn’t expect anything to happen on the ice,” he shrugs. 

Something about how nonchalant Mitch is makes Auston able to accept it all, filing away everything Mitch is telling them. 

He’ll just have to do some serious googling when he gets home. 

 

***

 

Google tells Auston that Mitch is dying, if not already dead. So, no surprise there. 

He exits WebMD, exits every other tab he has open in his private browser, and texts Mitch. 

It’s two am, so he’s not really expecting a response, but one comes anyway in the form of an incoming FaceTime call. 

The swishing ‘answering’ noise doesnt even fully have time to sound before Mitch’s voice is crowding over it. “ _Why are you awake?_ ” 

He’s grainy on Auston’s screen, low lit from the Tv mounted across from his bed. The sound of Monica and Rachel arguing filters through, just past the windy sound of Mitch’s blankets getting bunched up as he arranges himself under the covers.

“I was on WebMD,” Auston answers, painfully honest. 

Mitch’s nose scrunches up, all pixelated. “ _Who’s dying?_ ” 

“You, apparently,” Auston chirps. 

Mitch’s laugh is too loud for two am, but Auston finds himself smiling despite it, clicking his phone's volume down a notch or two. His bed, that just hours ago felt impossible to get comfortable in, suddenly feels a lot more forgiving. 

“ _You should’ve seen Davo’s reaction the first time he saw it happen_.” The way Mitch is trying to fight down a smile makes Auston think it was excessively dramatic. 

“Did he cry?” He asks. 

Mitch shakes his head, his laughter already starting to break through the hard press of his lips. “No, way worse- _he_ fainted,” he gasps out. 

It’s nice, Auston thinks, knowing he wasn’t the only one to make a fool out of himself over Mitch Marner and his hypo-whatever. 

***

So, time passes and it goes like this: Auston is lonely. Toronto is a long way away from home. All the guys seem to have hometown friends or hockey friends in the area and Auston just- doesn’t. He never regretted playing in Switzerland until he got to Toronto and realized how many of the guys really knew each other. 

So, he’s lonely, his life outside of hockey is pretty non-existent, and Mitch no longer feels weird hanging out with the team outside of practices and mandatory events because everyone knows now that he’s got his thing. It’s the perfect storm, Auston thinks, that ends with Mitch buddying up with the him and the guys. 

As easy as ever, it becomes routine to have Mitch in his passenger’s seat, or at his breakfast counter, or sat in front of his TV. 

It’s not so lonely anymore, but the extra time together means Auston sees a lot more of what he now knows- and can correctly pronounce- as postural hypotension. 

The first time it really hits, is when it’s just him and Mitch. 

They’re marathoning Friends, because Mitch won rock-paper-scissors, when he rolls off the couch and grabs for his water glass to refill it. It’s so normal that Auston doesnt even look up, at least not until he hears glass shattering. He’s never got up so fast in his life and it leaves him stuttering to a stop as he finds Mitch on the floor halfway to the kitchen, dangerous shards surrounding him. 

“I’m so sorry, Matts,” he’s saying, even as he blinks down at the floor, obviously still without his vision. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Auston promises, and when Mitch tries to get up way too soon, “Don’t move, alright? There’s glass all around you.” 

The annoyed huff he hears from Mitch is oddly endearing, as if he’s just plainly annoyed his body decided to not send blood to his brain. 

“Tell me when your vision comes back, okay?” Auston asks. 

But Mitch doesnt, instead wrapping his arms around his knees as he pulls them to his chest and lets his head hang. It’s one of the recovery positions Auston saw the night of his googling fiasco, so he lets Mitch ride out the dizziness as he sweeps up the floor around him. 

When Mitch finally raises his head from between his knees, his cheeks are splotchy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, as if he has anything to apologize for. 

“Seriously, don’t apologize.” 

“I broke your glass,” Mitch counters. 

“I’ll buy a new one,” Auston shrugs. He holds out a hand to Mitch, and Mitch takes it. 

***

The next time it happens is weeks later. It seems it only comes on its own schedule, persistently present for days on end and then disappearing until the next round. 

“Sometimes salt helps,” Mitch tells him through a full mouth, when Auston’s chirping him for the sodium intake on his chipotle order. 

It makes Auston happy, knowing that Mitch is comfortable enough to talk about it now. It’s almost like his first episode alone with Auston cemented a comfortability between them. 

It’s laughable, really, that right after that meal, Mitch tries to stand from where they’re eating on the couch and ends up falling back, heavily, against the the cushions. It’s not a full vision-failing, passing out episode, but it’s enough to have Mitch’s hands held out, low, in front of himself as if he’s expecting to fall forward. It only takes him a second to shake off the dizziness, and Auston finds himself laughing easily at the irony as Mitch shoves him. 

“I forgot to mention high carbo-loads also make it happen,” he defends in a half-whine. 

“Why?” Auston feels comfortable enough to ask, as he goes back to eating. 

Mitch shrugs. “Something about blood going to your stomach to digest the food. It just means there’s less blood, less pressure for my heart to pump through when it needs more, so it’s less likely I’ll get blood to my brain when I change positions like that.” 

Auston hums around a full mouth then swallows. “Sounds like you’ve got this all down.” 

“It’s been years, man. It’s just stupid that it happens so randomly; it makes me forget sometimes.” 

“Forgetting can be kind of dangerous, hu?” Auston asks. 

Mitch’s smile isn’t a real smile. “I didn’t go to the doctor until I was sixteen,” he admits. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal- I thought I was just getting head rushes like everyone else- but then I had one that made me pass out. I hit my head pretty hard. My Mom found me and it was a whole mess.” 

Auston doesnt know what he could possibly say. He can’t even imagine. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry man.” 

Mitch’s smile is real this time, even if it’s not his usual, giant grin. “Thanks, Aus.” 

***

A couple games down the road, they’re hanging out with the team at Mo’s place when Marty gets up to get them another round of drinks. He falters for a second, and then sits right back down. 

“Sorry, head rush,” he explains, waving off some of the guys’ stares. 

Auston can practically feel Mitch’s excitement. “Twins!” he cheers, right into Auston’s ear. 

Marty’s responding smile is way too fond. 

***

Life goes on in the ACC. 

They lose in overtime against the preds, Freddie gets his first shutout as a leaf, and they climb higher and higher up the league rankings. 

It only took three months on the team for Mitch to pass out in front of them, but its been a little over four months after that incident and he now has a running count of 126 days without a loss of consciousness. He’s come close a couple times, his vision black and his hands reaching for whatever- or whoever- is closest, but he’s stayed awake. 

It’s just a regular morning skate when Mitch’s streak ends. 

He goes down in a heap before practice even has a chance to begin. 

“I told him to keep moving, to not sit around for too long and let his blood pressure lower,” Paul defends as Babcock circles closer to get a read on the situation. 

“He was tired this morning,” Auston argues. “He just needed to relax for a second.” Paul must see something in Auston’s resolve because he nods, “You’re right, if he’s overtired this could’ve happened even if he didn’t sit down.” 

Between teammates and staff hovering, Mitch looks peaceful laid out on the ice, his head lulled to one side. 

“I almost hate to wake him up,” Paul jokes, but Babcock blows his whistle. It’s more to get the guys to stop hovering over Mitch, but it succeeds in pulling Mitch back to reality. 

“Aw man,” he groans, when he realizes what’s happened. “I had such a good streak going.” 

Paul nods encouragingly, slowly helping Mitch sit up against the boards. “Progress is progress, even if there’s a slight misstep in your path,” he reminds. Auston’s heard enough of Paul’s wise words to last a lifetime. He joins the starting drills seamlessly, letting Mitch get lead off the ice by their trainers. 

It’s a rough practice and despite their relatively good results in games recently, coach rips them a new one. 

That whole attitude changes once practice is over and, as guys are filing back to the locker room, Mitch skates out, only underarmour on top even though he’s still in his pants and skates. 

His shirt’s pushed up to the crook of his elbow revealing bandages that are no doubt the aftermath of an IV drip. 

“Wanna shoot around?” Mitch asks, hopeful. 

Auston’s dripping sweat. He’s pretty sure he made a new leg muscle today. 

“Yeah, Mitchy,” he agrees anyway. 

Before they can start, Coach stops Mitch at center ice, talking quietly to him with a supportive arm on his shoulder. Auston tries not to pry, firing off shots and pretending to be busy, but it’s hard not to overhear when they’re the only ones out in an open rink.

Babcock is reassuring, he’s gentle, _he’s worried_. “If I’m pushing you too hard,” he starts, but Mitch is quick to shoot that down. 

“No, Coach. Really, I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t handle it.” His voice is earnest, stern. He’s earned his spot here and he’s not going to let anything take it from him. 

Auston sees Babs squeeze Mitch’s shoulder one last time before it’s just him and Mitch left out on the ice. 

“Want to talk about it?” Auston asks. 

“No,” Mitch says. And that’s that. 

He rips a shot past Auston, into the boards, and they take off after the rebound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's any medical mistakes let me know! 
> 
> Comments feed the writer! :) I have actually a lot written about this little 'verse so if you like it lemme know and I'll make a little series (cause God knows I don't have enough unfinished works on this site haha)


	2. Chapter 2

Mitch doesnt want to talk about it until he does. He waits until they’re halfway home- and since when did Auston start considering his shabby Toronto apartment ‘home’?- until he brings it up. “It really doesnt change how I play you know.” 

The ride hasn’t been tense, exactly, but it’s clear their post-practice shooting drills didn’t work out whatever’s been eating at Mitch. 

Auston risks a glance over at him, trying to read between the lines. 

“I’m right there with everyone else. Hell, I’m almost matching you point for point,” he goes on, like he has everything to prove. 

Mitch’s shoulders are tense, his gaze forcefully focused on the radio dial even as Auston stares maybe a second too long. 

The thing is, is that Auston doesnt know what he expects. Silence stops becoming the solution, though, when he can feel Mitch’s eyes baring into him, waiting for a response. 

“I guess I just don’t think that’s true,” Auston answers carefully. “Not the points, obviously.” It’s maybe too early in their friendship for him to say something like that, but as the car under him tears up miles of road, his words tear up the space between them for him to build something new. 

Predictably, Mitch’s head whips towards him, his eyes flooding with a quick anger that Auston can only see for a fleeting second as he pulls his eyes from the highway. The look on Mitch’s face is the second look today that Auston’s never seen on him. It's making him really start to wonder if he should just drop the topic all together. 

He doesnt, though, because Mitch brought it up, and Auston’s not going to lie to him. 

“I think it makes you better, faster,” he reasons. “How many times have you heard teammates, coaches, or announcers call you an energizer bunny?” 

This time, when Auston glances over, Mitch is hiding a smile, his face half turned away as if he’s content just staring out the window during one of their deepest conversations. It's a lot to face, Auston realizes. Either way, this at least is an expression of Mitch’s that Auston knows like the back of his hand. It’s comforting in a way it maybe shouldn’t be.

In for a foot, in for a mile, Auston thinks. “Seriously, Mitchy. I get that if you slow down, sit, and your blood pressure goes down that you’re more likely to pass out- I do, and that’s terrible- but I think that’s your secret weapon. You’re always on, where everyone else shuts off.” 

“I have to be.” 

Auston smiles and shakes his head. He doesnt understand how Mitch cant see himself like he sees him. “You chose to be, though. You could’ve just decided to stop playing hockey and instead, as everyone else gets to take five, you push yourself to stay moving and keep your heart rate up. It’s impressive, man. When I play next to you it makes me push myself harder, just to keep up.” 

The silence he’s met with makes him risk another glance, and it’s worth it, to see Mitch’s beaming, embarrassed grin. “Suck up,” he chirps, tone warm.

***

After that car ride, Auston starts thinking a lot more about ‘home.’ 

He’s never been one to sit back and let life happen to him, but somehow, here, he feels like he’s been driving blind for half the season. 

Toronto is admittedly hard sometimes. He thought seeing Mitch more was a quick fix, but it's not enough. He’s miles away from everything he knows that’s not hockey, and even then at least hockey in Arizona and Switzerland meant more often than not his parents were cheering in the stands or picking him up after a loss. 

Toronto can be deafening in a way that’s loud. His two bedroom apartment is always painfully quiet and it’s not something he thinks he could ever get used to after growing up with two sisters. He’s accustomed to banging on bathroom doors just to catch a quick shower, and pushing straightening irons, clothes, and hair ties into the top drawer just so he can set down his towels.

Now, his bathroom sink has one toothbrush hanging in a holder, just as lonely as he is. 

And the thing is, the guys on the team are friendly, but they’re not exactly all tied at the hip yet. They’ve all got their own lives here and Auston feels like he’s just too far behind to be able to get ahead. It’s like he’s the last one to summer camp and everyone’s already found their cabin partner. Even Willy, his linemate, the guy he’s supposed to be building chemistry with day and night, ditches him for Kappy sometimes. 

And then there’s Mitch, who has a friend list that could fill up a small country. Auston knows if he asked, that he would hang out with him a lot more in a heart beat, but it’s more about the fact that Mitch has his own life here. This is his home in every sense of the word. Hell, he’s got a group of friends that he’s known since he was in middle school. Auston’s seven months can’t even shine a light to that. 

What it all comes down to is that Mitch is Auston’s best friend here, but Auston isn’t Mitch’s, and…that sucks. It leaves him alone in a city that’s big enough to swallow him whole. 

***

Auston admittedly wallows in self pity for the full two days they have off after their next game. He doesnt answer any texts from the guys and doesnt call home. It’s counterproductive, but he’s in a funk he’s not quite sure how to break. 

By the end of the day, he’s convinced he’s just feeling sorry for himself for the sake of feeling sorry for himself. He’s allowed to wallow, he figures; he’s young, lost, and isolated. It’s a recipe for disaster.

He cuts that shit out real quick though once the next morning skate comes, pushing himself to focus on hockey. His job. 

The anger and the seemingly physical pain of loneliness does wonders for his game, but it doesnt fix the fact that he’s about to go back to an empty apartment. 

Mo grabs him by the shoulder before he’s set to leave, though, and invites him over with some of the other guys. “Just a small thing,” he reassures, and Auston’s too eager to go anywhere that’s not back to his place to say no. 

“Sure,” he agrees, maybe a little too quickly to be chill.

Like he’s been listening in, waiting to strike, Mitch yells, “Matty, give me a ride to Mo’s." He’s as predictable as ever, messily hurdling his gear into his bag across the locker room. 

Auston’s been trying to keep his distance from him today, worried that his bad mood will rub off, but Mitch doesnt seem to be getting the hint. 

“I just have to find one more thing-” he’s saying, frantically looking around himself.

Auston honestly considers backing out of their plans, but then Mitch is reaching down for the clear roll of tape he’s found and Auston, without thought, is already stepping forward, ready to catch Mitch as he stumbles. 

“Going down,” Mitch jokes, still painfully happy even as he’s left defenseless, clinging to Auston as he waits for the dizziness to pass. 

It only takes a couple seconds, but still. “You need to be more careful.” 

“I’ll be careful when I’m dead,” Mitch chirps, hefting his duffle bag up, over his shoulder as if he wasn’t barely clinging to consciousness, and Auston, a second ago. 

“You’ll be dead if you’re not careful,” he shoots back. Mitch tries to stop him from grabbing the bag off his shoulder, but Auston gives him a look. 

“Fine, carry my shit, see if I care,” Mitch relents, handing his stuff over with suspicious ease. 

Auston can’t help but feel he’s been played. 

“You’re terrible,” he tells Mitch, but the smile he gets thrown makes whatever was tensing his shoulders to loosen, even with the added weight. 

***

Auston’s car has seen some shit. 

He’s found it’s just somehow easier to talk about things when he has the distraction of driving at his literal fingertips. So, when not even a second after they’ve turned onto the highway toward’s Mo’s place, Mitch says, all casual, “I know somethings wrong, and I’m here to talk about it if you want to,” Auston breathes out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“It’s just hard here,” he answers honestly, hating the croaky way his voice sounds. He wasn’t expecting to ever talk about this, and he can’t tell if he’s more surprised by his own response or Mitch’s scarily intuitive one. 

“Like ‘here’ as in Toronto and away from home, or ‘here’ as in hockey in Toronto?”

“Away from home,” Auston admits, “I have nothing here.” 

“You have me.” 

Mitch’s words hang in the air between them, steady, waiting, until Auston dares to risk a glance to his passenger’s seat, to Mitch, for what feels like the thousandth time this year. 

There’s no judgement, no unease. 

Auston opens up like a floodgate. “It’s hard without my family and friends. The team is great, just- everyone else has a life here. Everyone has someone.” 

Careful not to disrupt his steering, Mitch punches his arm, gentle. “I was kind of under the impression that you were my someone,” he teases. And- that's a lot to unpack so Auston doesnt even try. He knows Mitch doesnt mean it the way it sounds. 

So his mouth opens, and closes, and opens one more time before he gives up on finding the right words. And if his chest feels full for the first time in days, it’s because he let out his feelings and _definitely_ not because Mitch is saying shit that sounds like a line from the notebook. That’d be weird, if he were. They’re teammates, first and foremost, and teammates don’t say shit like that and mean it. 

Mitch- stupidly, like always, without a drop of self-consciousness- takes his silence in stride. “I know you have it way worse, being away from home and all, but honestly my friends from high school have been really busy with college. I’ve been kind of lonely too. I should’ve texted you, I just thought I was kind of being annoying after you didn’t respond to my messages on our days off.” 

Auston’s still trying to fit together how their conversation even got to this point. So, it’s not his fault he continues down the dangerous road they’ve paved. “I’m an idiot. This is on me,” he reassures Mitch. “I spent those two days wallowing, one hand on an ice cream spoon and another on the remote, wishing I was hanging out with you.” 

It’s maybe too honest, like this whole heart-to-heart has been, and while Auston sweats, Mitch tries to hold down a smile. ‘Unfair’, Auston thinks first, and then, ‘wow.’ Because he’s never talked with someone like this and had it just feel so natural. Like he could say anything and Mitch would just take it at face value and run with it and be just as honest and open and accepting right back. 

“Next time,” Mitch says, and reaches across the gear shift, “pick up the phone, dude.” His hand squeezes Auston’s arm once, tight, searing the skin there. “I’d much rather we break our meal plans and get yelled at by the trainers together.” 

And there’s that. 

 

***

 

His family facetimes him a couple days after and even they can sense a change in him. 

“Papi, I normally hear from you every night. Is everything okay?” His Mom is searching the screen as if looking for some kind of tell, seeing if Auston’s being held captive or having a silent breakdown. 

He doesnt even have a chance to reassure her before his Dad is cutting in. “I could fly up anytime Auston. Just say the word.” He feels bad for making them worry, but he figures they’re parents, they’re always going to worry. 

“I could too,” Breyana chirps from off-screen. His Dad’s face hardens, looking to the right. “No, you most certainly will not. School is your main priority.” 

Next to his Mom, Alex rolls her eyes. “Maybe I’ll visit then.” 

It’s nice, Auston thinks. Seeing them makes the homesickness in his chest ache just a little bit harder, but he’s okay in Toronto. He’s home here too, now.

“Guys,” he calls, to interrupt their bantering, “I just haven’t facetimed because i’ve been pretty busy. I’ve been getting really close with some of the guys. It’s…been good here.” 

His Mom maybe doesnt believe him. It makes him laugh to see that perpetual assessing look all Moms seem to be so good at, like she’s just simply reading an open book, waiting to get to the line of words that’ll reveal Auston’s whole hand. 

“Really,” he promises. And then somehow they get to talking about Mitch, and Auston, who was tight lipped about the whole passing-out thing, unleashes everything. 

His Mom wants to send him a care package. 

“Mom,” he groans, “I said I’m fine. It was scary when he passed out, yeah, but-”

She shushes him, “Not you, Papi. Mitchy.” 

And _oh_. That’d be pretty nice. Mitch is the kind of guy who probably loves shit like that. 

***

Three days later he has two missed calls from Mitch when a third comes in. 

“Hey,” he answers, half asleep still. 

Mitch’s voice is too bright, too fast, for nine am on an off day. “Your Mom is the sweetest. Like, the literal sweetest. I have cavities now, man.” 

It takes Auston a while to connect two and two. It’s not often he gets early morning phone calls singing praises to his mother. 

“She sent the basket,” he says, managing to only sound like he’s asking half of a question. 

Mitch hums, another steady stream of words already beating down Auston’s sleep-addled brain. 

“Glad you like it,” Auston cuts him off, before he really gets going, “I’ll let her know.” 

“Did she tell you about the card?” Mitch asks, his words suddenly a lot more gentle. 

Auston shrugs, realizes Mitch can’t actually see him, and hits the FaceTime button in the corner. 

“Dude,” Mitch laughs, but accepts the video call anyway. His voice cuts off at what Auston can only guess is his impressive bed head and oily face. 

“Awe, you’re still sleeping,” he coos. Auston forces one eye open just to glare at Mitch. It’s a lot of effort. 

“It’s nine in the morning, Marner. Just show me the card.” 

The dopey, pixelated smile Mitch is wearing goes soft. “It’s a very personal card,” he says snottily, “I don’t know if I’m comfortable sharing it with you anymore.” 

Auston hovers over the ‘end call’ button. “I’ve got a finger on the trigger, Mitchy,” he warns. It does the trick. With a roll of his eyes, Mitch flings himself up from where he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, already dressed for the day. 

“Whoa, slow down over there,” Auston chirps, joking even though he feels a real twist of anxiousness at seeing Mitch stand up so fast without anyone else around. 

Mitch admittedly falters, the phone in his hand dropping a little as he’s forced to lean against the wall until his vision stops tunneling. “I’m good,” he says, and even as he’s still getting blood to his head, he’s back with a spring in his step. “This card was amazing, Matts. Your mom should write a book.” 

For a second Auston’s good mood goes shockingly sour. He can’t tell if it’s a real chirp, if Mitch is making fun of his Mom’s English in the card. 

“Hey,” he calls for Mitch’s attention, about to address it. He’s gone too many years not saying anything and he feels like they’re close enough to talk it out, for him to be honest, even if it’ll be a little awkward. 

But Mitch is pushing on, “You have to hear this, Aus, I nearly cried.” And then he’s squinting down at the card over facetime, Auston bitting his tongue while Mitch quotes, “‘We’re so happy Auston has found a friend like you to help make Canada his home.’” 

He looks over at Auston after he’s read that one bit, and he’s not sure what his face is doing, but it must be spectacular for Mitch’s smile to go from beaming to disgustingly gentle in less than a second’s time. 

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Auston laughs, honestly a little self conscious. It’s still miles better than the anger he was feeling before, though, so he’ll take it. 

“I though you were chirping my Mom’s English, to be honest.” It’s morning, he reasons, when he wonders why he just confessed that. 

Like he’s physically repulsed by Auston’s words, Mitch’s whole face scrunches up. “I would never, dude.” 

Auston nods, but shrugs, mixed feelings sending off mixed signals. “You never really know until someone’s throwing around microaggressions, really. It’s not so face-to-face, blatant shit anymore like back in juniors.” 

It’s hard to read Mitch’s expression now, but his tone is steely when he speaks. “If someone’s doing shit like that, all you have to do is tell me, Matts. I’ll do something about it.” 

It makes Auston smile, a real, genuine smile. “Yeah, Mitchy?” he chirps, “gonna goon out?” 

“You bet your ass I am,” he responds in a heart beat, then brags, “I took down Ristolainen single handedly.” 

Auston’s eyes roll. “The jury’s still out on that one, bud.” 

“Hey!” Mitch squeaks. 

Auston loves how ease it is to ruffle him up. “Some of the guys still think you were just passing out and he happened to be the closest player.” 

“It wasn’t a hug!” Mitch annunciates with short, choppy shakes of his phone’s camera, “I was _taking him down_.” 

“Okay, tough guy,” Auston says. Even he can hear how disgustingly fond his own tone is. 

It isn’t until his text-tone sounds that he even realizes Mitch isn’t here with him right now. He was so encaptured it felt like Mitch was laying across from him, warm under the blankets and lazily enough with sleep to stay in bed just to talk. 

“Why aren’t you over here?” Auston finds himself asking in the lull that’s taken over the conversation. 

“You didn’t invite me,” Mitch reasons. 

“ _This_ is me inviting you,” he says. 

Mitch is already grabbing his wallet and keys, pausing only for a second to look at the FaceTime screen. “Well, I’ll see you soon then.” 

Auston can’t help but mimic the easy, happy smile on Mitch’s face. 

“You’re good to drive?” He asks, just to check in. 

Mitch honest to God looks down at his body, as if checking. “Yeah,” he decides, after a second. Auston determines then and there that his best friend is an idiot. 

***

Of all of the things to do on an off day, they end up watching Netflix and ordering food. 

It’s domestic in a way that Auston will never confess to liking. 

He answers the door for the postmates, Mitch grabs them plates and drinks, and they dont stop talking even as they eat and drown out the sound of the movie they threw on. 

It’s the perfect day, even when Mitch has to lay down after trying and failing to get up to put away their leftovers. 

“Just relax,” Auston tells him, grabbing the throw blanket from the other couch to spread it out over him. 

He gets an appreciative hum for his efforts and a weak smile when he jokingly tucks the blanket in around Mitch’s neck. 

“Need anything?” He asks distractedly as he picks up the mess they’ve made on the coffee table. Once he’s gathered everything he turns to check on Mitch, still waiting for a response, but Mitch is fine, just watching Auston with slow, sleepy eyes. 

“I’m perfect right here,” he says, voice unrushed and deliberate. It feels like he’s asking Auston to read into his words. 

“Good. I’ll just be, you know,” Auston says, and motions off towards the kitchen. It’s maybe the least chill escape of the decade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like anything specific to happen lemme know! I love hearing what you guys think :)


	3. Chapter 3

Auston lets himself hide in the kitchen for five minutes. Ten, max. 

He cleans the dishes, puts away the food, and then considers reorganizing his fridge. There’s a takeout container in the back that’s been there for weeks and it’s starting to smell a little weird. 

By the time he’s cleaned everything out he’s still thinking about Mitch. Busying his hands did next to nothing to stop the thoughts coursing through his mind. He knows he shouldn’t like seeing his teammate curled up on his couch, wearing a hoodie Auston leant him, but he does. He likes it a lot, enough so that it’s terrifying. 

And here’s the thing- years ago in high school Auston had his bisexual freak out. It wasn’t a big deal, because he had hockey and hockey meant that someday he’d find a girl and settle down. There wasn’t room for another option in the life he chose. 

Now, he feels like he’s having a second gay panic. As if one wasn’t enough. 

As far as panics go, it’s somewhere between his bisexual awakening and finding out they canceled Brooklyn Nine Nine that one time. So, it’s not great, but it’s not terrible. He can just stop his feelings like before. Like he did once he realized he was going to make it to the show. It’ll be better this way, easier. 

He scrubs at a stain on the top shelf, next to his pre-game shakes. It doesnt come up.

By the time Auston’s tried a different cleaner and a rougher sponge, he’s talked himself down. He’s just not going to like Mitch that way. It’s simple. The mark is still glaring down at him, but it's faded around the edges. Good enough. 

So, with a new resolve, Auston picks his head up and goes back into the living room mentally repeating over and over again that Mitch is his friend, first and foremost. 

“How’re you doing?” Auston asks, and barely has to put in any effort to sound casual, like he hadn’t just given himself a pep talk to be able to face his best friend. 

As surprised as he is at his own level of calm, he’s even more surprised to find Mitch sat up in his pile of blankets. 

“Been better,” Mitch laughs, like his condition is just another charmed thing in his existence. Auston can see right through it, though. He can tell he’s doing his best to seem okay, downplaying the obvious way he has to hold his hands against the couch cushions to ground himself to something that’s not moving. 

It’s not the only thing Auston zeros in on. 

The hoodie he leant Mitch hangs awkward on his thinner frame, the collar loose and pulled weird over his shoulders. He’s flushed, too, his cheeks hot with a deep red color. It looks really nice on him in a debauched, overworked sort of way; like when he throws his gear off after a rough game. 

Auston clears his throat and refocuses. “You need help getting up?” 

The smile Mitch gives him is weak at best. “Yeah, I’m not doing too great,” he admits. He’s talking like he’s out of breath, like sitting up was just as hard as the suicides they had to run last workout. 

“Just take your time,” Auston insists. His prior problems get overshadowed quickly by the way Mitch nods, frantic almost, like he’s scared. Normally he’s the first to crack a joke about his episodes. It’s his fear that makes Auston’s own unease flare up.

“I’m just really dizzy, I think I should go home,” Mitch says, and Auston gets close enough to really see him in the dim light of his living room. It’s not good. 

The flush that seconds ago looked healthy on him now looks feverish. Even his arms are shaking with exhaustion, just from holding himself up. His eyes are no better, dizzily trying to focus on one thing at a time. He doesnt even dare look up at Auston, who cant stop shifting from foot to foot, nervously. 

If Mitch passes out here, Auston doesnt know what he’d do, but at least it’d be better than Mitch at home, alone, with no one to help him or ease his way to the ground. “You shouldn’t go home, shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Near instantly, Auston can tell that his words rubbed Mitch the wrong way. He straightens up from his nest of blankets, ready to argue, even though it looks like it physically pains him. 

Worryingly, he’s stubborn enough to try to stand. “You don’t have to take care of me, I’ll be fine.” Despite the knowing nature of his words, he makes it the two feet to Auston and then goes boneless. He’s not as light as he looks. 

“Mitchy?” Auston asks, even as he can feel Mitch’s even, sedated breaths against his collar. Predictably, there’s no reply. 

“Okay,” he says like a sigh, to no one in particular. He’s stuck holding one hundred seventy pounds of his best friend with no idea what to do. “This is great.” 

He figures he cant just stand there forever, so he sweeps Mitch up completely, feeling ridiculous as he holds his passed-out friend in a bridal carry in the middle of his living room. _Now what_ , he thinks, and turns towards the couch, then towards the hallway leading down to his room in indecision. 

In the end, he heads towards the hallway. Mitch will probably appreciate not having an achy back in the morning. 

With no particular finesse, Auston kicks open his bedroom door, almost clocks Mitch’s head on the entry way, and just barely manages to pull back the covers on his side of the bed while still holding Mitch up. 

“In ya go,” he hefts out, awkwardly squatting so that he doesnt strain his back as he settles Mitch into his cocoon of blankets. 

When he pulls back, he cant help but feed his prior problem, letting his eyes feast on the sight of Mitch’s messy hair and flushed cheek smushed into his pillow. 

After a minute, it feels too weird to stand vigil, so Auston texts Paul instead, letting him know Mitch passed out and asking if there’s anything he needs to do or watch out for. 

He thought when this moment came- because he always knew it would- that he’d be more scared. Instead he feels prepared, calm even, at the view of Mitch buried in his blankets. At least while he’s passed out he’s staying here, where Auston can keep an eye on him.

Paul’s response intrudes on his moment. It’s a list of instructions, time restraints, and numbers to call in case of emergency. It’s as unsettling as it is helpful. 

One look down a Mitch, and Auston knows he’s in for a night of babysitting. “If you stop breathing, I’ll kill you,” he warns. 

Seemingly in answer, Mitch puffs out a heavy breath, then another, and Auston finally lets himself back out of the room slowly, watching Mitch’s chest rise and fall until he gets as far as he can go down the hall without loosing site of him. 

“Be okay for ten seconds,” he begs under his breath, and then dashes to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water and grab some smelling salts from his hockey bag. 

Thankfully, when he vaults back into his bedroom, Mitch is just as unconscious as he was when Auston left him. 

The instructions Paul gave him were specific enough that he leaves the water he got on his nightstand, tables the smelling salts, and wonders if pulling up a chair to Mitch’s bedside would be better or worse than just standing over him. A minute later, he remembers to set a timer on his phone. 

_Okay_. He breathes easy, decides to sit on the edge of the bed, and doesnt let his thoughts venture into ‘what do I do if..’ territory. 

The first alarm he set goes off after what feels like hours of watching Mitch puff out breaths of air into his pillow. Two minutes later, Mitch rolls closer to the edge of the bed, his eyes starting to dance behind his eyelids. 

Auston rereads Paul’s text ten times over, always stopping between sentences to glance up to check on the rise and fall of Mitch’s chest. 

On the eleventh read, Mitch’s eyes flutter open. He looks from the ceiling to the window and back again before his eyes fall on Auston. 

“Hi,” he says sleepily, and closes his eyes like he’s going to pass right back out. Auston’s at attention in a heart beat. 

“Mitchy, no, don’t go to sleep,” he calls, and shakes his shoulder gently. Nothing Paul wrote told him what to do with Mitch if he was already tired before hand. Does he just let him go back to bed?

“Can you wake up for a second, please?” 

Mitch shakes his head no, pulling Auston’s comforter tighter around his shoulders. 

“I’ll let you go back to sleep right after, alright?” He tries. Mitch at least speaks this time, grumbling out a ‘no’ that’s half obscured by the pillow he’s pressed his face into. 

“Mitchy, come on, I’m worried here.” The honestly or the anxiousness, Auston cant tell which, wins Mitch over. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” he protests, and at least opens his eyes again. 

It’s probably a good sign that he’s with it enough to be annoyed. 

“Are you okay?” Auston asks and gets up, back on his feet, in case he needs anything. 

His eyes settle back on Mitch just in time to see him stiffen, then roll around so that he’s back to facing where Auston’s been standing vigil at his bedside. He’s wearing a pained grimace, like he can’t believe what happened. 

“I’m not at home,” he says first, realization stark over his face. Auston doesnt know if it’s a bad sign that he seemingly didn’t remember until now where he is. 

“Oh my God,” Mitch groans, and buries his head until the blankets in embarrassment, “Auston, Im-” 

Auston cuts him off before he can start apologizing, his hands gently pulling the blankets down so Mitch can breathe. “I wanted you be comfortable, so I bought you back here. I hope that’s alright.” 

The glare he gets is spectacular. It’s enough to bring Auston’s racing heart to a calmer rhythm, his body finally relaxing, accepting that Mitch is okay.

“Shut up, your bed is amazing,” Mitch grumbles, digging himself deeper into the blankets and managing to look even more annoyed with himself because of it. 

“Take all the blankets you want, just make sure you have enough air,” Auston teases him. Even though it’s mostly a joke, he’s still worried enough to tug the top of his comforter down an inch, away from Mitch’s mouth and nose. 

“No, let me die,” Mitch whines dramatically, “this is so fucking embarrassing.” He fights Auston weakly for the blankets, but Auston wins out. Just to be an ass, he makes sure each layer of bedding is tucked snug around Mitch’s shoulders before he chirps him. “That better?” 

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess breathing’s cool, if you’re into that.” 

Auston very carefully doesnt think of the pale column of Mitch’s throat. 

It’s a battle. He coughs, pats down the blankets awkwardly and forces himself to stand up, trying not to hesitate. “Really, do you need anything? Are you okay?” 

“God, don’t do that worried thing,” Mitch complains and nearly gets the blankets back over his head. 

Auston very harshly pulls them back down. “Then stop trying to suffocate yourself.” 

“I can suffocate if I want to,” Mitch argues, and really puts some back into his fight for the blankets. 

It’s not even a struggle, for Auston. He very pointedly tugs them away and re-tucks them, daring Mitch with a set of spectacularly furrowed eyebrows to pull them back up again. 

It takes a second of staring before Mitch gives in with a sheepish smile, his hands raising in surrender.

The truce doesn’t last much longer, Mitch’s easy grin and playful mood is gone a second after, like he cant’t physically keep up appearances right now while still getting his body back on track. “Really, Auston this is embarrassing, I’m-” Auston doesnt want to hear another apology for something Mitch shouldn’t have to apologize for in the first place. 

“I’d rather you just said thank you, instead of sorry.” He tries to sound teasing, but he doesnt think it comes off so casual. 

He at least succeeds in one thing: his words turn Mitch’s flush back to a healthy hue. 

“Thanks, Aus,” Mitch says, quiet.

There’s not many ways to break an awkward atmosphere when you’re not Mitch Marner, but Auston tries enough for the both of them. 

“That’s better,” he chirps. “I’m a hometown hero and all, it’s no big. Just something I do- saving people, hunting things, the family business.” 

Mitch’s groaning laugh as he tries to smother himself with Auston’s pillow is a pretty good ice breaker.

“We just talked about this,” Auston argues in jest and forces Mitch to roll over onto his back so that he can breathe easier. 

Mitch’s smile is wicked. “Sorry I only agreed to breathe for you because I didn’t know you were one of _those people_ ,” he chirps right back. 

Auston tries to play up how offended he is just to get Mitch going and it’s honestly not hard. Mitch clearly isn’t a fan of the show Supernatural if his reaction to its tagline is this intense, but Auston’s extremely bias here. Jensen Ackles single-handedly awoke his bisexuality. It’s a big deal, practically a defining part of his teenage years. 

“I’ll have you know _those people_ are people with good taste,” he fires back. It’s easy to fall into this routine, making himself comfortable at the foot of his bed while him and Mitch mercilessly push at each other’s buttons. 

It takes a while for them to settle down, but once they have, Auston ends up with the remote for once. Because he can and he knows it’ll annoy Mitch, he puts on the first episode of Supernatural.

Mitch doesnt even complain, just huffs out a laugh that get buried in Auston’s chest instead. 

So maybe they’re snuggled up in his bed, but it’s just bros. He’s just making sure Mitch is feeling oaky. It would be neglectful for leave him alone so soon after he’s lost consciousness. 

“This is the best part,” Auston whispers in anticipation, when the brothers on screen are high-tailing it to the ghost’s house. 

He can feel Mitch’s eyes roll. “This show sucks,” he whines. It’s just bratty enough to have Auston retaliate. The arm he has around Mitch makes it painfully easy to tug Mitch the rest of the way onto him, his other arm coming up to wrap tightly around his shoulders. “Take it back,” he demands, and shakes Mitch gently, throwing his weight from side to side, batting him around like you would a playful puppy. 

The laughs bubbling out of Mitch turn into a string of pleas, “Okay, I’ll watch, I’ll watch. Aus, please. I’ll watch. It’s a great show, I love it.” 

“Will you stop with the attitude?” Auston teases and momentarily stops pushing Mitch around. 

Breathless, Mitch props himself up, settling even more of his weight on Auston as he stares him down. He pretends to think about, and Auston, threateningly, wraps his arms back around him. They’re a frantic scramble of limbs until Mitch pins him, relenting, “Fine, fine,” even as he has the upper hand. Auston’s wrists are held tight in Mitch’s hands, pinned next to his head against the bedsprings. 

They’re both panting, smiles dopey over their faces. It goes on a second too long, like all their looks seem to do lately, and Auston hates himself for not putting a stop to this. 

Mitch must feel the change in the tension radiating from under him, because he glances down at where he’s straddling Auston, then carefully releases his wrists, like he’s just realized what they’ve been doing. 

Auston lets his arms go back to his sides, careful not to let them go up to Mitch’s hips to steady him. It’s then that he realizes he’s too far gone to be the one to pull himself back mentally or physically; he lets Mitch slowly climb off his lap and settle, cross-legged next to him. 

“Sorry,” Mitch says, not looking at Auston, as if he’s the one with the decidedly not-bro feelings. 

“I thought we talked about the you not saying ‘sorry’ anymore thing,” Auston blurts out, as if that’s the glaringly important issue here. 

Mitch brushes over it. “I have something to be sorry for though,” he admits, “I shouldn’t put you in a position like that.” 

Auston’s mind boggles, trying to wrap his head around a world where Mitch doesnt think Auston would soak up every once of affection he gives like a pathetic cactus under the first rain in a drought year. 

“I pulled you on top of me, bro,” he says carefully, cause honestly he’s not sure if throwing himself under the bus is the best method, here. 

“ _I_ pinned _you_ ,” Mitch says. 

And just like that they’re fighting to take the blame, a weird game of ‘I touched you first! No, I liked it first!’ and Auston’s starting to realize they might be saying the same thing, just differently. 

“In case it was unclear, I didn’t mind you on top on me,” he says, and Mitch cuts himself off from where he’d been rambling about wrestling-bro-rules, his mouth hanging open in a way that would be unattractive if Auston could take just one second to stop staring at his lips. 

“Oh,” he says, when he realizes Auston’s waiting for a response. “You should know though I’m not- well, I’m not gay.” 

So, that’s about how Auston’s day is going. 

He tries not to let his shoulder’s fall or heart burst pitifully out of his chest like it wants to. Anything to keep his physical reaction in check will do, so he buries his nails in his palms and breathes. It’s easy.

“I’m not either,” he says, because even if it’s not completely true, it’s half true. He still likes girls, alright? It’s not _not_ at lie. He very specifically enjoys his bisexual label. It’s saved his ass more than once to be able to kiss girls whenever guys on his teams got too suspicious. 

“Okay…” Mitch says, slow, like he’s been thrown off track, like he doesnt know where the conversation is going anymore; and well, hey, at least that makes two of them. 

There’s not much else to say, so Auston goes for the retreat. If Washington did it a thousand times and still managed to win a war, it cant be that bad of a method, he reasons. 

“Anyway, you should probably get some sleep,” Auston says, and starts pushing himself off the bed. “There’s water on the nightstand. The master bathroom is that way, and anything else you need just let me know.”

He hovers awkwardly at the foot of the bed for a moment, his hands stuffed in his sweatpants pockets. 

“You’re not going to sleep here?” Mitch asks, his head tilted to the side like he’s confused why Auston wouldn’t share a bed with him for the night after what just happened, happened. 

It’s like they’re playing charades with a somehow physical language barrier. It’s more tiring than anything. 

“I feel like we’re not on the same page here,” Auston admits to him, motioning uselessly between them like it’ll magically make the tension between them tangible. 

It’s like Mitch doesnt even think before speaks, impulse driving his side of the conversation. “If you’re so straight why cant we share a bed?” he challenges, and Auston’s mouth is the one left hanging open. 

“I’m- I’m really lost right now, with what’s happening here,” he finds the mind to confess. He’s pretty sure Mitch turned him down, but as each second passes he’s starting to feel like the air hasn’t been cleared on both ends. 

“I’m not gay,” Mitch repeats, and Auston finally lets some emotion slip through, his nails leaving their piercing hold on his palms. 

“Thanks for fucking repeating it, man. I didn’t hear you the first time.” It’s sarcastic and rude, and Mitch doesnt deserve it. Auston crumbles as the last word leaves his mouth. “I’m sorry that-” 

“I’m pansexual,” Mitch blurts out, and whatever Auston was going to say dies spectacularly in his throat. 

“I’m sorry what?” He coughs out. His past sexuality-crisis-fueled googling was limited to exactly two sexualities. He has absolutely no idea what Mitch just said. “Are you attracted to like-”

Before his presumed words can tarnish the air, Mitch cuts him off. “If you say cookware I swear to fuck, Auston, I’m walking out the door.” 

It surprises an honest laugh out of him in the middle of an unusually intense moment between them. Auston’s chest heaves from laughter as much as relief from the break in the room’s atmosphere as he falls back onto the foot of the bed. “Mitchy, what the fuck, no, I’m not that stupid,” he defends, even though they’ve both met some guys that have taken one too many pucks to the head. 

It’s enough to bring them back to them, easy soft smiles and conversation back in play. “I was going to ask if you were attracted to guys, Mitch.”

It’s the epitome of their friendship, their knees brushing while admitting things they’ve never told anyone. 

“It means I don’t care about sex or gender, I just like who I like,” Mitch tells him. 

It’s like Auston’s world opens up in response to Mitch, grass peaking through pounds of snow that have sat heavy on his chest for months. The ice age is over, warmth spreading like wildflowers. 

“I’m not gay,” he tells Mitch. His smile is so big that it hurts the corners of his lips. “I’m just really fucking bisexual.” 

The look they share is disgustingly sappy, even by their standards. 

He’s never felt so sure of himself. “I like you and have liked you since we started hanging out more,” Auston confesses, because he’s done with miscommunications. 

He’s rewarded with a grin-splitting smile and laugh combo from Mitch that nearly takes his breath away. 

“Oh dude,” Mitch snorts, “have I got news for you.” 

Auston honestly doesnt know what more they could have to confess to one another. 

“Remember our first road trip, to Ottawa?” He asks. 

Auston nods, a silent prayer sounding, begging that Mitch wont mention his four goals, his hockey. There’s so much of him already burdened with a need to be ‘the next one.’ 

“And you sat next to me on the plane?”

Vaguely, Auston remembers Mitch shaking, pale and sweating, as the plane took off. He was a complete mess of nerves. Not because of the game, but because he hated flying. 

“You looked like you needed someone to distract you,” Auston recalls. 

“You talked for hours,” Mitch tells him and gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “You barely talked to anyone at that point, but you talked to me.” Auston wraps their fingers together, lets them rest against his thigh. 

“I was nervous too,” he admits. Auston thought then that he wouldn’t be cool enough, that he wouldn’t be who they thought he’d be.

“I was so gone on you,” Mitch smiles, wistful, “you were so uncomfortable, talking, trying to be yourself and who we expected all at once. But you kept talking the whole time just to keep me calm.” 

Auston never realized it meant so much to Mitch. After the plane ride all he remembers doing is grabbing his carry on and heading off to the hotel, excitement and anxiety all at once making his own hands shake. 

He remembers getting to lobby and seeing Mitch across the hall with a group of players, his ever-permanent smile back on his face where it belonged. It felt reassuring, to see him like that. Mitch had waved to him, something short and sweet that Auston remembers having smiled at. 

After, when he got handed his room key to change into his suit, his hands were steady again and he never questioned why. 

Even back then Mitch was making Auston a home here. 

He can’t believe they had both been so blind. Mitch, even, whose eyes are always so open, honest, and searching, like they are now, hadn’t seen what was waiting right in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you?” Auston asks, breathless. 

In a heartbeat of excitement, Mitch pushes up to his knees, his hands falling on Auston’s shoulders as he scoots closer. 

Neither of them are expecting the way he trips forward, his grip on Auston tightening as he loses his vision and his head swims. 

It feels like second nature for Auston to pull him closer, to press waiting kisses into his hair as Mitch breathes through the dizziness. 

He’s disgustingly fond of him. “Too much excitement in one day, eh?” Auston teases. 

“‘Eh,’” Mitch chirps back, and lets Auston help lay him back down. He’s careful to tuck the blankets perfectly around him, a joke just as much as a gesture of care. He smoothes them out after. 

“Going to sleep with me, Matty?” Mitch asks, even though his eyes are already drooping. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

“Yeah, Mitchy,” he promises. “Kiss me in the morning, okay?”

Mitch happily hums his agreement, dropping easily into sleep from the exhaustion his condition causes. 

Auston has a much harder time losing consciousness. He can barely believe that Mitch likes him. It feels just as unreal, just as daydreamish as that first time Mitch stumbled to the ice during practice. This time though, Auston prays if it’s a dream, that he sleeps in it forever. 

It’s everything he thought he couldn’t have, sitting, waiting for him to take in the palm of his hand. 

Because he can, he wraps an arm around Mitch’s waist, tugs him closer, and waits for sleep to take him into dreams that he knows could never even shine a light to his reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of part one Woo! Everything else and any prompts are going to be different parts just because it's easier to write it that way :D
> 
> Comments feed the writer :)


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